strange what desire will make foolish people do
by Isolith
Summary: Post-the-Deep-End-episode. What happens at a wedding stays at a wedding; unless nothing happens; unless it happens after the wedding – then it stays in the bedroom, in the dark...


_Summary: Post-the-Deep-End-episode. What happens at a wedding stays at a wedding; unless nothing happens; unless it happens after the wedding – then it stays in the bedroom, in the dark ;) _

_A/N: To Ashley (Ladybamfs on tumblr) because you are awesome =) Hope the rest of you enjoy it as well. _

**#**

**/Strange what desire will make foolish people do/**

**#**

"Let's dance," he says and it should be an innocent invitation; only it's not, her hand sliding into his with warmth and all he can think about is an entirely different dance he wants to engage in with her, naked and entwined.

It's not a date, he reminds himself for the umpteenth time.

**#**

_It's explicitly not a date_.

It's a mantra that's beginning to sound tired and worn in her head though, his body close and warm, brown eyes exclusively on her when he thinks she doesn't notice. She notices.

#

So, it's not a date; he knows that.

The problem, however, arose the moment he rather nervously, half-jokingly said 'so – so it's not like a date or anything' – he should simply have kept his mouth shut. The moment date was uttered out aloud – even if it wasn't a date – it felt like a date.

They dance across the room, her laughter sweet when he twirls her rather fast in a circle so he can wink as his little girl across the dance floor.

#

She finds herself wondering what his lips would taste like; sugary and caffeinated she decides watching him drink coffee, the wedding cake half eaten on their plates. She shouldn't be thinking about his lips let alone looking at them – not unless he is speaking to her. He's not speaking too her; he's looking at her though.

Still, her imagination just moves on, wondering about his hands instead, his fingers around the coffee cup.

She smiles back, wondering what his smile means.

#

Yes, she's married – Yes, she's his Captain; both rather inconsequential when she greets him with a soft uttered "Andy", green eyes bright and lips painted an exquisite red color. Everything pales in contrast then, the sleek burnt okra on her dress etched into his retina along with that smile.

He is rather enamored with the cut and the way it snugs in by her waist, the low cut hemline across her chest – and he is rather horrified to find himself enamored.

As the evening progresses he only finds himself becoming more and more entranced by her until it is a certain fact that he wants to undress her.

#

His hand is once again on the small of her back, comfortable and warm.

#

He is nervous; attending a wedding where the majority of the attendees hate him on sight and the rest hate him by mere name – that is a rather harsh environment to tread into. The worst of it though, he can't blame them; he would hate himself equally if the roles had been reversed. No, there's Nicole who greets him with warmth and a bright smile; the rest do not matter.

Now, he has a buffer though – a buffer that makes him nervous for entirely different reasons. A buffer that obviously draws him in like a goddamn magnet – he feels himself spinning, dizzy and giddy.

#

His thumb travels down her back in a little caress, her spine tingling.

#

She is beautiful; in a way he has naturally noticed before – because who in their right mind have not noticed she is beautiful – but he has never really contemplated her beauty to a full extent, not to the extent where he imagines undressing her, imagines what lies beneath clothes in a fashion that is quite frankly unhealthy to his well-being.

She is nonetheless a fascinating creature to admire, sleek pale arms, the arch of her neck, the collarbones that become visible beneath white skin when she turns her head – and legs that he wants to run his fingers along, wants to lavish kisses on; he imagines they are as smooth as they look.

#

His brown eyes are intense – she wonders if they have always been this intense or if it's the occasion; they strike her as quite entrancing, deep black-brown in the depths, full in their warmness. She thinks of melted dark chocolate then and she has a sudden yearning to eat dark chocolate.

#

So maybe he stands a bit closer to her than is the norm, maybe he smiles a bit more intensely at her than usual – maybe his hand lingers on her back, guiding her to a bench in the church, guiding her out to the dance floor – guiding her to their table.

Maybe he forgets for a moment to shrink and feel small when people glare at him – only because his eyes fasten on her and she shines like a thousand lights. Maybe they dance more closely than he has dreamt about, one hand warm in his and the other resting leisurely on his shoulder. Maybe he finds her fingers slender and positively beguiling as they nestle in his own hand – maybe he finds himself becoming lost in the green gaze that she bestows on him.

In all honesty he thinks it began with introducing her as Sharon, his friend. It is easy to forget work and rank then, with her following him around greeting guests, her smile serene and inviting; he thinks she is the reason there is less hostility than he has imagined.

She looks mesmerizing with a flute of champagne in her hands as well, laughter soft and one hand on her hip; he watches her from the other end of the ball room as he twirls Nicole around; his little girl with an equally happy smile on her face. Maybe it is the whole atmosphere that influences him.

So he invites her out to the dance floor, yet again.

#

She feels light, a strange feeling inside of her that she likens to bubbly champagne.

#

So he leans down, meaning to give her an appreciative friendly goodnight kiss on the cheek, just inside her apartment door; he feels like a fiery sun waiting to burst forth with happiness, the evening having been a success. Maybe he wants to thank her – in some way.

Maybe he wants to let her know how absolutely wonderful she has been to him and how helpful it had been having her by his side.

Funny how motion and the contractions of muscles can complicate everything; funny how even a second of time passing can irrevocably change everything.

She turns her head, maybe – he does not really intent to kiss her cheek, maybe.

No matter the intention; in the end his lips lands on hers.

#

Oh!

Oh.

This is most definitely not supposed to happen.

Why does she turn her head? – why does she intentionally position her head so his lips crash onto her own lips instead of the cheek he had obviously meant to kiss?

She ends up with a hand at the back of his head, fingers curled into the short hair and her mouth insistently pressed against his, lips moving against each other in what is simply not amicable but heated. There's nothing friendly in it – nothing collegua-ish in the way she opens her mouth to his, the way she sucks his bottom lip into her mouth.

It's sensual and bursting with tension – anticipation of what she truly wants to happen next fueling her body. It's liquid fire, tingling from her lips and inwards, through her whole body and down to her groin where it centers and pools.

It takes a turn for the worse when she suddenly feels his body pressing up against hers; oh!

#

She tastes like spring, fresh and sweet, tingling in a way that reminds him of spice.

#

Maybe it's the fact that she only faintly remembers kissing – she cannot even pinpoint down when she last kissed someone, not sure if it's years ago or not. Not to mention sex – goddamn she misses sex. That would explain why she suddenly feels a need to kiss someone even if it's her lieutenant. Beneath everything, she longs for touch of some form – and well, this is not a date. It's simply touching – it's simply… oh who is she kidding! This is not meant to happen and yet it is happening; she wonders why she has yet to stop it, why she presses her body into his in return, why she caresses his tongue with her own.

His hands end up on her cheeks, fingers under her chin – a small caress.

She hums, not able to hold it back.

Her world feels on fire, desire boiling under her skin, blazing in her bones.

They break apart, air rushing into her lungs as she breathes.

She feels dizzy.

His eyes are dark and questioning; she does not understand it either.

He quickly lets go of her, taking a little step back, a sheepish red tint on his cheeks and a hand at the back of his neck. He's confused and her eyes center on his lips, thinking it was a lot simpler to kiss him.

"Err – I," he stutters, the blush deepening on his face, creeping up his neck where he has loosened his tie and unbuttoned a few buttons during the course of the evening.

She looks down, the black color of her heels fascinating to behold.

"I'm sorry, lieutenant," she says to her floor, her fingers curiously trying to flatten her dress over her hips, patting the fabric down even if it's sleek against her skin.

Curious but she can't breathe; her chest feels restrained as if someone's sitting on it.

"No, what Captain – Err I mean Sharon," his words make no sense at all and she's still avoiding his eyes, "I'm sorry – I should be sorry. I'm so sorry – I didn't mean to you know, on your lips – shit."

She looks up, "You didn't mean to kiss me?" her voice sounds shaky now. She wants him to want to kiss her, she realizes.

_#_

Shit.

She looks devastated; he wants to rectify it but he's not sure he should tell her he had meant to kiss her – on the lips.

"Errrm," he says again – apparently he has lost the ability to function.

There's a flicker of something in her eyes he wonders about – she always seems so composed and yet now he watches as she tries to hide shaking hands, tries to stop the tremble with her other hand, smoothing down her dress – it's snug and flat against her body and his eyes zero in on white, pale hands on the deep orange color, the curve of her waist.

"I shouldn't have kissed you," he says in a rough voice, already thinking about what he is about to do. He takes a little step closer to her, a hand on her upper arm, fingers curling around her muscles.

#

She feels breathless.

#

Her eyes are hidden by shadows now.

His other hand land on her neck, palm against the skin, sliding up till his thumb is just in front of her ear on her cheek and his fingers nestle at the back of her nape, into her hair.

She leans up and meets him again, lips soft against his – moving leisurely at first and then it takes but a second and it's once again a blaze of fire, intense and consuming.

_#_

"You're right," she breathes in between heavy kisses, her voice sounding very unlike herself, "we shouldn't kiss at all."

They continue to kiss though, the front door closing behind them and she finds the notion of his hands at her waist divine, the way she can feel the press of his fingers. She enjoys the way they slide downwards and around to her back, cupping her behind when he brings her pelvis firmly into contact with his.

She finds the feel of his erection against her lower stomach a wondrous feeling as well; the way it certainly tingles and tightens in her lower body.

She blames the wedding; she always gets emotional at weddings.

_#_

He blames the wedding; otherwise he wouldn't be drawing the zipper on his Captain's dress down her back, the pad of his fingers on the bare skin of her spine; otherwise he wouldn't try to impress upon her the importance of keeping their lips fastened. And he would most certainly not be pressing his hips against hers to show her just how goddamn hard he is already; it the wedding's fault, simply.

He's certain she wouldn't be palming him through his pants either if it weren't for the fact that they've just been to a wedding.

Shit – it feels wonderful.

He bunches her dress around her hips, hands on the muscles of her back.

#

"We're off duty," he says in a breathy tone, his hands warm on her skin.

She nods in agreement – it's a good excuse, why she even thinks she'll be able to defend it in court in this very moment.

"You're just my friend tonight," he lavishes a kiss to the corner of her mouth, moving under her jaw, lips pressing kisses in a line down her throat, a harder tug the further he goes.

"Just friends," she breathes out, pleasure enforcing its way through her skin, in through muscles and bones and it's roaring in the way it expands through every layer of her body.

"Just sex between friends," he says voice nonchalant as if it's a regular occurrence.

She whimpers, "You have sex with your friends?"

He lets go of the kiss, her bottom lips caught in between his teeth, pain pleasurable as he lets it slide through.

"You don't?" he wonders.

She shakes her head.

"Oh – well," he stops, his fingers pressing into the flesh just under her bra and his lips part in a cheeky smile, "There's always room for a first, huh."

She smiles back, finding him dreadfully roguish like this; she likes it.

#

Her smile is enchanting, he thinks – alluring and dark, encompassed by something that coils even more in his lower abdomen, contracting in excitement. Shit, he wants to fuck her.

#

She briefly entertains the idea of stripping naked right here and turning around and letting him do her up against the wall; she briefly entertains doing it on the floor as well, the notion of moving to her sofa or bedroom far beyond comprehension – she is distracted however, his hands around her bare waist, her dress bunched around her hips; his lips on her neck and sliding down to the top swell of one breast.

Oh god; he guides her backwards up against the wall, one hand roughly pulling down her bra on one side, followed by his mouth around her nipple; wet and warm on the flesh in his mouth, an exhilarating feeling like a spike of electricity when he sucks it in, teeth scraping.

He lets go, cold air a caress as he blows out air.

"Bedroom," he says voice sultry and dark. She nods, her head tilted in the direction; her voice has abandoned her.

#

He pushes her up against the opposite wall, having only managed to take a couple of steps towards her bedroom, his mouth on hers again and his hands kneading her breasts as he pushes his thigh in between her legs. They move slightly to the left, uncoordinated steps and he couldn't care less about the direction to her bedroom in this moment, only focused on her lips and the heated breaths that leave her mouth everytime they come up for air, the hard way she grips the top of his shoulders, her nails scraping though the material of his shirt.

There something intense about it – even in its hurried, ungraceful state.

#

He bumps her up against the wall just next to her bedroom door, his lips fastened on hers and one of his hands lifting her leg by the back of her thigh, his fingers hard into the flesh; the bulge in his pants against her center as she wraps one leg around his middle.

#

She whimpers and it goes to his groin in a spiral of further tension, impossible to not ground himself into her as they try to walk, entangled in limbs and lips.

They stumble through her doorway, his back being pushed painfully into the frame and he bites down on her lip, enjoying the little cry.

#

She lets him guide her into her bedroom, towards the mattress – she briefly wonders how in the world they are going to explain this away in the bright light of morning but she quickly forgets when he softly bites on the side of her neck, his mouth travelling in a line from her neck to her chest before they are once again attached to one breast.

She lets out a half moan, one hand gripping around his shoulders to keep herself from falling and the other going into the back of his head, fingers tight in between the short strands.

_#_

She lets out a breathy moan when he flicks his tongue over the nipple inside his mouth, tightening his hold on her waist, digging into the bare flesh beneath his fingers.

He rubs his hips against her thigh, the pressure against his groin delirious.

They tumble to her bed and land on it in a heap, her on her back and his mouth still on her breast, his hands around her thighs; this is going to be graceless and messy, he thinks – because he has no intention of going slow and he has no clue about this tension inside his chest that feels ready to burst through his ribcage any second now – only he thinks it will lessen the moment he's inside her.

Her heels clatter to the floor and he moves to her other breast, his teeth pulling down the bra because his hands are busy going around her thighs, moving to the inside of her legs and going upwards, his fingers against her underwear – damp and shit, he wants her so badly.

He slides his fingers back and forth just because she responds with a breathy moan he has never heard before, not in the least minding that he's grinding his fingers against her underwear.

_#_

God.

Oh god.

Oh.

She just wants – she just wants – oh fuck, she's going to come like this, his fingers having finally gone under her underwear and now they are alternating between flicking against her bud and going into her, his fingers slick as they slide through her folds, wet and unbearable against her clit; her legs spread even more apart, trembling as she feels herself tensing up –

Oh –

God –

He bites down around her nipple, again, drawing the flesh out – fingers in another rhythm against her clit and it does it –

She comes, a high-pitched moan leaving her mouth against her will – to her horror it sounds Iike _oh fuck_.

#

This might be his new favorite sound, the _oh fuck_ distinguishable; he grins around the flesh in his mouth, his tongue soothing across tender skin.

#

She arches her head back, trying to breathe and calm down – her body feeling languid for only a second before she feels him moving, his hands disappearing – and then she hears the rustle of clothes being removed. She looks back and catches him getting out of his pants and getting rid of his shoes; she smiles and hurries with her dress, pulling it all the way down over her thighs and letting it pool at her ankles, slipping out of it with a kick – she gets rid of her underwear in the same way just as his hands slide up her legs, rough around the back of her thighs as he directs her into a position. She smiles – oh she likes this position, her legs over his shoulders and he slips into her easily – a fast pace already.

She's already trembling – quivering really, and fuck – if she comes again now; it's too –

She moans high again – in the haze of everything she promises herself never to wait this long again.

#

He should probably do this with a more refined rhythm or maybe just slow down; but she's gripping his arms, nails digging into his flesh, heels bumping into his back and really, he just wants to come; tension accumulating tenfold.

That and goddamn, those breathy moans; well if they aren't inviting then nothing is.

#

Her own fingers land on her clit, the position difficult but she manages, the feeling painful and intense; he pushes into her with more force as well, bursts of pleasure spreading through her lower abdomen and for a second she even feels like she needs to go the toilet but it's just pressure against her bladder she thinks, everything tingling and twitching.

#

He comes with a roar and a collapse, his body surely heavy on hers but her legs are tight around his middle now and there's no complaint.

#

God, he is heavy on top and yet it's a delirious and wonderful feeling, compressing her into the mattress, warm and compact in the aftermath of trying to come back to her senses.

His body is slick against hers, sweaty and warm – his breath humid as he breathes into her neck; she has missed this.

She hums.

He groans and then rolls unto his back, limbs this and that way and she sneaks a look at him – her eyes going down his chest, the stomach and further. It's too dark to make out details – and she finds herself pouting.

#

"Fuck," he says, reality setting in.

She stays silent and he dares a little look in her direction; she's looking at his cock however soft it is now.

He grins, "Yeah, I'm too old for round two."

#

She raises an eyebrow, "I figured." She lies down next to him, on her back and stares up into her ceiling.

#

He turns on his side and with a hand under her head he angles her lips to his, once again locked in a kiss – wet and appreciative, sated and yet it sparks though him, the intensity. She turns around, her breasts bumping into his chest and she slides her leg between his, her calf smooth against his. She opens her mouth, slipping her tongue in – he meets her.

#

"Friends," he smiles in between the kiss.

#

Friends who fuck she thinks but she merely smiles, patting his chest and finding him adorable as he looks back at her, his expression easy to read, "Friends," she agrees.

#

Fini


End file.
